


darker than wine and hotter than burning lava

by jonphaedrus



Category: Final Fantasy Tactics, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Murder-Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-25 09:50:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12528624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonphaedrus/pseuds/jonphaedrus
Summary: “i thought you were going to kill me,” he says softly. the man with the sword snorts. toshinori sees his face for the first time; he is not young, but he is not yet old, either. he hasn’t shaved in several days. his hair is as dark as his eyes, as his clothes, and spills unbound in black waves around his shoulders, absorbing the firelight. “why didn’t you?”





	darker than wine and hotter than burning lava

**Author's Note:**

> beta'd by the unstoppable [kay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradoxikay/pseuds/paradoxikay) and canon-compliance checked by [The Ghoul](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vanitaslaughing/pseuds/vanitaslaughing)
> 
> i played with setting this in-universe to alternate bones-canon, but it wouldn't work. so yall get ivalice-compliant _fuckery._
> 
> for erasermight week 2k17, prompt day 2: memories/regrets.

i.

the man stands over toshinori’s body and holds the sword to toshinori’s neck. toshinori coughs up blood from the back of his throat as he stares up at him, panting. he is going to drown in his own blood. he is drowning in his own blood. the stone in his hand digs into his palm, sharp on the edges. he holds it tight. tighter.

“i should kill you,” the man with the sword says. his face and hair are hidden by his mask. all that is visible are his dark, dark eyes. they are like the night sky, trapped in his face. “ivalician bastard. put you out of your misery.”

the stone in his hand beats, once. toshinori barely feels it, his eyes half-shut, trying to breathe. failing to breathe. “please,” he whispers. he does not know what it is he is begging for. his vision goes dark at the edges, and the man pulls back his blade. “please, i don’t want to die.”

the stone

the stone

_burns_

 

 

ii.

toshinori wakes up.

he is by a campfire, propped against a stone, and there isn’t blood in his lungs any more. there is the sound of someone sharpening a sword. toshinori stares at the night sky, the stars dappled across it, and then looks down to see who he is beside, and meets eyes just as dark as the bowl above their heads.

“i thought you were going to kill me,” he says softly. the man with the sword snorts. toshinori sees his face for the first time; he is not young, but he is not yet old, either. he hasn’t shaved in several days. his hair is as dark as his eyes, as his clothes, and spills unbound in black waves around his shoulders, absorbing the firelight. “why didn’t you?”

the man nods to his clothes. “insignia on your armor. you’re a captain.” toshinori looks down at his sleeve, laughs. of course. a captain. it’s true. “you’re a lucky son of a bitch. i was a priest before i was a ninja, or you’d be dead now. that armor plate punctured your lung.”

toshinori closes his eyes, sighs. “what are you going to do to me?” each word is exhausting. the ninja makes a noncommittal noise.

“i’ll take you back to ordallia. a knight-captain of the northern sky. that’s a precious pawn indeed. you’ll live at least that long.”

the auracite is gone. but at this point, in the grand scheme of things, that matters very little. he will find it later, or he will not. it will get where it needs to be.

he accepts this mutely, and recognises that he will likely die before they reach ordallia.

 

 

iii.

they travel only by night. the ninja finds a chocobo, and dumps toshinori on it like a sack of potatoes, tying him down to prevent any falls from weakness. he doesn’t talk much, toshinori discovers; all of the answers the man gives him are one-word at the best. the rest of the time, he responds in monosyllables. or remains silent.

so toshinori takes to filling the air with his own words—after all, someone has to do it. someone must. he chatters about nothing, cycling through inane topic after inane topic. this lasts through all of three days before he runs out of ideas, and he says:

“a thousand years ago there lived a princess.” the ninja doesnt look up. “she was the ninth-born daughter of the king of dalmasca, and when she was a child, all eight of her brothers died to the plague. she had never been raised to be a queen. she was supposed to marry for an alliance. but her father died, and her husband died, and so she became heir to two kingdoms and lost both to the empire.”

“i can hear you making comparisons back there,” the ninja says, jerking a little harder on the chocobo’s reins than he has to. it squawks, and stops just short of throwing toshinori. “queen ashelia was the rightful heir to dalmasca. she had the birthright and approval from the gran kiltias. ivalice doesn’t own any part of ordallia.”

toshinori continues, as if he has not heard. “she and her true-blood companions fought the evil empire of archadia—“

“her companions included the emperor of archades, if you’d forgotten that part—“

“and brought the empire down and restored dalmasca to its former glory.” toshinori finishes. he’s out of breath, as he always is from speaking now. “my goodness,” he says, once he can breathe easy again, “you seem very attached to factual accuracy!”

“and you embellish.” the ninja shakes his head, tugs the chocobo forward. “next thing i know you’ll try to tell me the story of ajora.”

“i can if you want.” toshinoris voice turns wistful. “saint ajora, born to squalor in the gutter and, surrounded by her loyal disciples, used her powers and those of the zodiac braves to return a demon to the underworld—“

“ajora was a man,” the ninja says.

“of course he was.” 

 

 

iv.

on the fifth night, they are attacked by bandits. the fact that it did not happen sooner is a genuine surprise to toshinori. they come down from over two hills, pin toshinori and his escort in the middle, and the ninja draws his sword.

tied to the chocobo, toshinori can do nothing. he just watches, and when the ninja is struck down by a blow across the side of the face, he sits back up and throws a small knife that slices through a cord in the chocobo’s saddlebags.

toshinori’s sword falls out, and while it has been many years since he fought on birdback, he draws it. it sings in his hand, calling him to wield it, but he finds the weight ill-suited to him now. still, it serves its purpose as intended, and he cuts down three fighters, nudging the chocobo to trample a fourth. in this time the ninja fights off his attackers, and then spins around, catches his blade up from where the bandits had knocked it from his grasp, and throws it.

it cuts so close to toshinori that it clips some hair from the side of his head, and he turns, follows the blade, and sees another ninja, in the bandit camouflage-green, falling to the ground. the blade has pierced him all the way through the neck, bisecting his throat. he writhes, screaming, blood gushing from the wound, and toshinori stares.

the ninja comes over, holding his side, and stops by the man pinned with his sword. he grasps the hilt of his katana and pulls, and more blood gushes, in sprays. the ninja does not flinch.

“sword,” he says, holding out his hand. toshinori hesitates and then hands it over. it is not a fight worth having. it is not one that he would win. not like this.

 

 

v.

the ninja, when they stop for the night, is doubled over, hand clutched to his side, and every breath he takes is short and painful. toshinori stumbles when he is untied from the saddle, clutches the chocobo to stay upright, but his hands do not shake.

“i thought you said you were a priest.”

“magic can’t do shit if the wound won’t knit,” the man snarls.

toshinori holds up his hands. “let me,” he says. “i have some small skill with a needle.”

the ninja watches him with his dark eyes. he cannot straighten, looks down at the ground, closes his eyes. “if you try anything, i’ll take your head from your shoulders faster than you can blink.”

they build a fire, and in the flickering light, the ninja unlaces his gappa, removes his katabira, shucking it to the ground, pulling his hood out from under it and lifting his hair from the back of his neck to reveal the binder he wears beneath, of sensible padded cotton and leather.

the side has been sliced almost all the way through, and the ninja unlaces it slowly, hissing, until toshinori pushes his hands aside and does it, careful not to touch his skin until it falls free, like a shell. “don’t look,” the ninja says, his voice soft.

toshinori does not know what the ninja has to fear, what he thinks toshinori will gain from looking, but he murmurs “of course,” and takes up the needle and thread. the injury is long—too long to properly heal, he can see that now. it runs from the nape of the ninja’s neck down his spine, and then abruptly arcs away along his side, scraping over his bottom two ribs, to end at the top of his hipbone.

he makes no noise as toshinori stitches it shut. all he does is breathe. once, when toshinori accidentally presses too-hard on some bruise over his ribs, he sobs, but otherwise he remains perfectly still.

it is only when he is done that toshinori sees that the other man has dug his nails into his forearm until they broke the skin, blood dried in arcs where it had dripped. toshinori does not comment on it. instead, he just cuts the thread. “you shouldn’t move for a few days,” he tells the ninja. “or it will open.”

“so you get to go free,” the ninja whispers, his voice hoarse and tight. the stress of holding back his pain has made him sound strange. “run back to ivalice.”

toshinori laughs. no; even if he wanted to, he needs to stay. this ninja has something of his, after all. he must.

“did you forget?” toshinori says instead. “i can barely walk. i’d not make it far. you’d kill me before i could run.”

the ninja laughs, blood-dark and low.

 

 

vi.

“when were you born?” toshinori asks, watching the stars. his lungs fill, the night air sweet.

“scorpio,” the ninja replies. “you?”

“gemini,” he says, and for the first time, gemini feels _wrong_. too early. too ill-fitting.

but, he thinks, scorpio isn’t quite right either. too late.

 

 

vii.

toshinori is dozing two days after they’ve moved their campfire when the ninja takes it out. he knows immediately, sees it glint in the firelight, and he cracks his eyes, pretends he’s still asleep, as the ninja turns the stone in his hands.

the symbol for leo glints within it.

toshinori is considering getting it back when the ninja speaks. “what is it?” he asks, holding the auracite up to the firelight. “you were holding it when i found you.”

toshinori considers lying. “it is auracite,” he says instead. “one of the zodiac brave stones.” the ninja looks to him, his dark eyes wide. toshinori smiles. “leo.” of course this ninja is of the many who think religion is a myth. it is easy enough. that is easy enough.

“you aren’t a captain of the northern sky.” it is not a question.

toshinori’s smile grows until both rows of his bright teeth glint, his blue eyes, he knows, 

he is not a captain of the northern sky.

 

 

viii.

the dead body he had looted had been a captain of the northern sky.

the uniform does not fit him correctly, but he barely notices, as he is now. it is a minor inconvenience at best.

he is not the commander of the knights templar any more, either. but that is what he was. when he still

 

 

ix.

a contingent of southern sky knights come upon them, and see the ninja’s colors, and draw their swords. “save the captain!” their knight-commander yells, and toshinori slides off the side of the chocobo, and draws his sword.

ten dead men fall to the ground. one by one. the last, the knight-commander, stares at toshinori in mute horror.

“my apologies,” toshinori tells him, and takes his head from his shoulders. the blood sprays over his face and hair, he wipes it off on the back of his sleeve, smearing it under his eye.

he turns back to the ninja, who stares at him.

“what are you,” the ninja whispers.

toshinori smiles again. his canines are longer now. he knows his hair has begun to grow. “i was the leader of the knights templar, once.”

“and now?”

toshinori’s smile grows

 

 

x.

“give me the auracite,” toshinori says, one big hand wrapped around the ninja’s throat. the bodies cool. it is not enough blood, but it is close. “give me leo.” the ninja spits in his eye, but he doesn’t even notice. holds him tighter. “please, if you would. i do not want to hurt you.”

the ninja fumbles, and he presses leo into toshinori’s other hand. toshinori releases the grip he has on the ninja's throat, lets him breathe. he holds the stone up, and the moonlight glints off of it. whole. he is whole.

and yet.

this man under him writhes as he tries to escape, his eyes wild. when toshinori leans into him he moans in pain, the cut along his back and side taking too much weight. something about him feels strange, and toshinori leans forward, pulls the hood from the other man’s head, cups his cheek. he seems so sad.

“i wonder,” toshinori says, “i wonder if she’s in there.”

the man straightens, bares his teeth. “ _what did you call me,_ ” he snarls, all banked coals of bright-hot fury, and toshinori hushes him.

“not you, not you. inside you. latent. waiting. it’s almost time, you know. you might be close enough.” he can see the whites all the way around the ninja’s eyes. he is frozen, shaking, scared. he isn’t quite right, toshinori knows. for one thing, he doesn’t have the stone. for another, he doesn’t think this body fits. there isn’t enough blood yet, he knows. they need more. they need more. even this war won’t be enough.

“what are you,” the ninja asks again, and this time toshinori leans down, presses their foreheads together, and looks into his eyes. he wonders, their bodies plastered together, if he could look close enough and see where she is hiding, deep inside this man. if he could pull her out. “what the _fuck_ are you?”

“just along for the ride,” toshinori tells him. “i had a name once, but it doesn’t matter. if you want you can call me it.” he whispers it, kisses the man. “”

 

 

xi.

the katana slides between his ribs, and toshinori (hashmal) laughs. “oh,” he says, “that won’t kill me. this body is just a husk, now. you’ll have to do better than that.”

the ninja throws him off, and stumbles as hashmal rolls to his feet, wiping blood off of his chest. he doesn’t bother blocking the strike the other man hits him with, just lets the blade dig into his side, between chinks in the armor of the uniform he wears, slicing into organs he no longer has to use. “if you kill the husk, it will only make me stronger,” he tells the ninja.

“give him back!” the man snarls. he has struck in such a way that, even were it possible, the body would not die. “get out of his body! give him back!”

“you poor confused little hyur,” hashmal laughs, pressing his hand to the other man’s chest, holding him at arm’s length. “why, had you come to care for this husk in so short a time?” those dark, deep eyes flash in defiance. “when all it did was treat you with affection?”

“get out of him,” the man snarls. the blade sinks deeper, and hashmal laughs. as he does, blood bubbles between his lips. “let his body go.”

“you besotted fool.” hashmal grabs the collar of his shirt, pulls him closer. the ninja twists in his arms. “you stupid little mortal. he was dead when you found him. he was dead when _i_ found him. he gave me this body to use. he gave it willingly, offered, asked.”

hashmal pulls the man closer, and they kiss. it tastes like blood. the man bites his lower lip, until his teeth go through. hashmal laughs into his mouth. “you love me,” he says instead. “that creature which treated you with respect was _me_ , this body but part and parcel. why do you fear?”

the blade pulls out of his side. hashmal coughs, and blood gushes from the wound.

“i can make you like me,” hashmal says, whispering. “i can make you live forever.”

the ninja plants his foot on his chest when he falls to his knees, and kicks him to the ground.

he raises the sword.

 

 

xii.

he brings down his katana between the bones of hashmal’s wrist, and slices.

his hand comes off like it is butter. the auracite falls to the ground, and the ninja picks it up. he holds it, staring down at hashmal, his face unreadable.

he turns and throws it, as hard as he can, as far as he can. it vanishes into the darkness.

hashmal laughs as he bleeds. “you think that will be enough?” he asks. “you think you will save the body if you remove the spirit?”

“no.” the ninja wipes blood off of his mouth. it is hashmal’s blood, from where he bit him. “but at least you can’t become anything _else_.”

“you are her vessel,” hashmal says, as the man raises his sword. “you are _her vessel_. another will come for you if not me. you shall know no peace. ten generations or more we have waited for you to be born and you think that if you kill me you will be able to remain as you are? when we have virgo—“

the ninja smiles one last time.

it does not reach his eyes.

he turns his back on hashmal, and raises his sword. above his head. his arms outstretched. the tip is pressed to his stomach.

“i will not be this thing you wish of me,” the ninja says.

and he thrusts the sword home, through his chest. and falls backward so it impales hashmal as well, digging into the ground. their blood mingles, the ninja coughing in death throes.

“i will die as myself,” the man says, blood frothing his lips as hashmal feels this body fail, going dark. “or i will die not at all. _find another for your gods._ ”

far away, thrown from him, sundering his spirit from its host,

the stone

the stone

_burns_

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr, twitter @ jonphaedrus
> 
> for those of you not familiar with ivalice, i would highly, highly encourage you to skim [this](http://livvyplaysfinalfantasy.tumblr.com/post/26674937259/an-introductory-background-to-final-fantasy) summary of the bg of tactics
> 
> and, following, SERIOUS spoilers for the ending (i.e., final bossfight, major plot reveals) of tactics, i encourage those of you who dont care to check out [this](http://livvyplaysfinalfantasy.tumblr.com/post/32147723184/hashmal-angel-of-blood-in-all-things-you-i) and [this](http://livvyplaysfinalfantasy.tumblr.com/post/32166291369/ramza-alma-ajora-ramza-no-you-cannot-you) for a little more clarity on background information on the universe of tactics. [this](http://livvyplaysfinalfantasy.tumblr.com/post/31936314194/balthier-and-the-zodiac-stones) is highly speculative, but it might also shed some more light on tactics.
> 
> ivalice is a friendly, happy universe, full of light and joy and nothing bad ever happens ever.


End file.
